


Post-Fall Hannigram Drabbles

by TreacleA



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, M/M, POV Will Graham, Sweetness, Ugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-23 23:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17693528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleA/pseuds/TreacleA
Summary: 100 Word Post-Fall Hannigram Drabbles.





	1. Chapter 1

_“I’d be thinking of something else…”_

Will’s voice is loud in the darkness, where before there was nothing but silence and the soft shirring sound of sheets sliding against their skin.   
  
Hannibal’s open palm, his long slender fingers resting on the muscle of his thigh, stills as though it has magically become marble. 

Will swallows,

_“…and I know you…don’t want that.”_

The hand on his leg is warm and dry, resting softly now like a fallen leaf. He closes his eyes and breathes, feels his heart rhythm steadying again, and after a moment or two the hand moves away.


	2. Chapter 2

Will walks on the beach, and the absence of paws at his side is a brambling ache in his chest.

Every morning as he leaves, Hannibal is sitting in his chair. When he returns - shrugging off his coat in the warm kitchen - he is kneading dough, sleeves of his sweater rolled, stripe of flour on his cheek.

He never asks him if he wants to come, but when he finally does - with only a silent angle of a shoulder - Hannibal tries his utmost not to let his eyes show everything he feels.

 _“I suppose the bread can wait_ ,” he says.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes, when he’s driving back from town, he considers leaving. 

He pulls over to the roadside, listens to soft ‘tink’ of the cooling engine and lets his thoughts jump away. Like a tied dog though, they always returns to the same settling place. Not because of a rope, but because to be anywhere else seems unthinkable.

He sees Hannibal’s expression as he watches his approach,and something blooms (warm and red) inside his chest -

_      “You were gone hours. I was worried.” _

\- and he can’t remember a time in his life when anyone has seemed so grateful just for his existence.


	4. Chapter 4

They kill an elk.  
  
Will shoots the arrow, and Hannibal cuts its throat. He locks eyes with him as he does it, and for a frozen moment he can’t look away.  They lash it to a tree-limb to carry it back together, and the smell of warm blood is all over both of them.  
  
As he washes his hands at the sink, he feels Hannibal watching him.

_      “You think that smokehouse is useable?” _

_      “Perhaps.” _

_      “No deep freeze. We want it to last the winter at least.” _

When he looks at him, his eyes are shining.

_“At least,”_  Hannibal says quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal limps when he doesn’t think Will is watching.

He sees him from the window, fetching wood at a time that he’d usually be sleeping. A slight rolling dip on his right side, the side Will knows caught the cliff-face hardest. The side he’d glimpsed as vermilion, chartreuse, indigo for weeks afterwards.

When he enters the kitchen, his leg is straight, his gait almost jaunty as he feigns his surprise,

_       “You’re up early.” _

Will grunts, waits. Chances it.

_“Leg’s hurting again_.”

Hannibal brow creases, and for a moment his eyes are concerned before he understands.

_“It’s cold today,”_ he says.


	6. Chapter 6

Will is rarely alone in the house, but whenever he is he is drawn to Hannibal’s things.  
  
The book he is reading lies open on the arm of his chair, and noting its position, he turns the cover.

_“Impresiones y paisajes”_  
  
Will sits in the armchair in the corner of his room and looks at his bed.  
The white sheet folded down.  
Coverlet precisely 3” from the floorboards.  
His razor and shaving brush at exact right angles to the sink’s edge.  
  
When Hannibal returns he pauses at his door, and Will turns away quickly before he looks in his direction.


	7. Chapter 7

_      “Tell me a story.” _

Hannibal’s lips purse softly, eyebrows flicker.

_“Alright,”_ he says.

He begins to speak, and his words are curling woodsmoke, startling something in Will’s chest. 

Something about speaking his own language changes his face. He looks younger somehow, spreads his fingers in gestures he has never seen before. 

Will does not understand a word, but still he laughs when the cadence changes. He knows that it is a story from Hannibal’s childhood, told to him as a boy.

When he is finished, Will wants to ask -

_“Was that was her favourite?”_

\- but he already knows the answer.


	8. Chapter 8

There’s a leather footstool in front of the fire, and for a while it seems they take turns using it.

Hannibal’s feet in heavy knitted wooden socks, long legs stretched straight as he turns the pages of his book. Then Will, chair drawn closer to the fire, knees bent.

The first time they find themselves sharing, it’s an accident. Will sees Hannibal’s eyes flicker up at the same time as his, but neither moves.

Now, weeks later, their feet occupy the space together. Companionable knitted counterparts, unconcerned when they bump against each other.

It shouldn’t feel intimate, yet it does.


	9. Chapter 9

Try as he might, he cannot hide the wince of pain and instantly Hannibal’s eyes pin him.

_      “Your shoulder again?” _

_      “It’s nothing.” _

_      “Let me be the judge of that please.” _

Despite having shared a bed in their underclothes, he feels intensely vulnerable as he removes his shirt for him. Each button a rush of blood to the head. 

Hannibal’s fingers trace the air, before gliding over the curve of his shoulder. Pressing in.

_      “There’s heat here.” _

Will swallows,

_      “An infection?” _

Hannibal hums,

_      “Maybe just over exertion. Try to rest it” _

And then the loss of touch is a stark subtraction.


	10. Chapter 10

He knows he shouldn’t drink, because whenever he does he doesn’t want to stop.

Dimly he’s aware of Hannibal’s shoulder under his arm, the warm brand of an arm encircling his waist and - uncaring now, weak - he lets himself burrow in, face to neck.

It’s only afterwards he realises the swirling weightless feeling that followed was Hannibal carrying him to bed.

Anyone else would bring it up the next day, but instead there is freshly-made coffee and croissants made from scratch.

_“Sorry about last night,”_ he mumbles.

Hannibal’s gaze on him is fox-bright,

_“No need to be,”_ he says quietly.


	11. Chapter 11

They walk side by side now.

When Will allows himself, some tiny part of him reels at the ease of it. How, once he allowed himself to fall - figuratively, actually - his new life with Hannibal felt like letting out a breath he’d been holding forever.

It scares him how right it feels. As if at any moment he’ll wake to realise Hannibal is nothing but a Jungian signifier in one of his dreams: a shadow part of himself.

But he doesn’t wake, and with each day he knows with greater certainty that, if he doesn’t wish to, he never will.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  _*I'm not that great at writing short things, so this is me practising. Apologies if you were expecting more at this time!_  
> 


End file.
